<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Try Again Tomorrow by toxic_corn</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28352718">Try Again Tomorrow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxic_corn/pseuds/toxic_corn'>toxic_corn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Who's Keeping Who [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Boy (2016 Bell)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dubious Consent, F/M, Manipulative Relationship, Stockholm Syndrome</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:08:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,253</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28352718</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxic_corn/pseuds/toxic_corn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You try to leave Brahms but it's not that easy...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brahms Heelshire/Reader, Brahms Heelshire/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Who's Keeping Who [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2160807</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>96</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Try Again Tomorrow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first attempt at Reader/Brahms fic so I hope it doesn't suck!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's dark and freezing and your left boot is coming untied but you can't stop to re-tie it. If you stop for even the slightest moment to tie the damn boot or to adjust the backpack strap that's become twisted and digging painfully into your shoulder or to reassure the small child clutching your hand, you'll say <i>Forget it</i> and go back to that house.</p><p> </p><p>You can't do that this time. It isn't an option.</p><p> </p><p>“Mummy, I'm tired,” your son says plaintively. He isn't used to this much walking and you've shaken him out of sleep just ten minutes ago, dressing him in darkness and whispering for him to hurry.</p><p> </p><p>“I know, shmoo,” you say in sympathetic tones. “I'll carry you when we get through the gates, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” he says and the trust in his tone, the immediate relief that his misery has an end is enough to bring tears to your eyes. You give his hand a squeeze.</p><p> </p><p>“That's my brave boy,” you whisper. “When we get into town, I'm gonna buy you so much candy, you'll eat until you're sick.”</p><p> </p><p>He giggles. “I don't want to be sick!”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, then you'll eat enough candy to almost be sick but not quite. Is that better?”</p><p> </p><p>“Much.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good.”</p><p> </p><p>You're smiling now. The worry in your heart isn't gone but you've kept your child calm and that makes this a little more easy. You review the plan one more time. Walk into town. Stop at a shop, ask for a phone. Call your dad. You haven't seen him since you were fifteen but he'll move heaven and earth to get you. He's been waiting for years for the chance to win you back and dropping everything and saving you from six years of captivity will appeal to his Dad of the Year pretensions. </p><p> </p><p>The gate is getting closer. You can make out the spires through the trees in the moonlight. It's a clear night, cold and crisp. Just days until Christmas. You and your little boy will be celebrating the holiday far from here. You start walking a little more quickly, though it forces your son to practically run to keep up with you. It's fine. It's fine. You promised him you'll carry him soon so he's not going to whine.</p><p> </p><p>The long driveway you've been walking down curves and you see the gate. Your heart leaps at the sight. It's so close now. You can imagine reaching town just as the citizens start waking up, the yawning shopkeepers turning over the signs in their doors from “closed” to “open.” You imagine going into a bakery and asking to use the phone, surprising the old woman behind the counter who isn't used to someone coming in this early, especially with a small child.</p><p> </p><p>But then you get closer and you see what you've been both expecting and dreading to see. A figure stands in front of the gate, head slightly lowered, shoulders squared. You can't make out the face but you know who it is.</p><p> </p><p>“Daddy!” your child shouts happily. He snatches his hand from yours and bolts to the figure at the gate before you can protest or clamp his hand to yours tightly or just pick him up and run off into the woods, hoping to lose the man that you've been trying for years to escape.</p><p> </p><p>“H'llo, boyo,” Brahms says as he kneels and picks up the child who launches himself into his arms. He chuckles and gives the boy a loud kiss on the cheek. “What are you doing up so late?”</p><p> </p><p>Your child rests his head on Brahms's shoulder. “Mummy's taking me into town for candy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is she?” Brahms says casually. He looks at you and says, “What a funny idea, Mummy.”</p><p> </p><p>“I'm supposed to eat until I'm sick,” your child goes on and then laughs lightly. “I told her I didn't want to be sick.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course you don't,” Brahms agrees. “You're sensible.” He looks at you now as you walk closer. You want to scream and cry and beg him to let you and the child leave. But you've worked out how Brahms operates by now. You know how to play this so you don't end up tied to the bed again like the early days.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, baby,” you say lightly. You come up and kiss and nuzzle his cheek. He's stiff but his shoulders come down a fraction at this freely given bit of affection. “Walk us back?”</p><p> </p><p>“Gladly,” Brahms mutters. You take his hand in yours and he doesn't shake you off. This looks good so far but you're not in the clear yet. You rub your cheek absently against his shoulder and hear him exhale a soft sigh.</p><p> </p><p>Back in the house and slipping off your backpack in the vestibule of the Heelshire house, you see that your son has conked out asleep on Brahms's shoulder. You find yourself smiling at the sight and Brahms catches you and he relaxes even more. </p><p> </p><p>“Can you take him up to bed?” you ask as you start unzipping your coat.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Brahms mutters and heads up the stairs, tenderly cradling the child in his arms.</p><p> </p><p>You finish taking off your jacket and boots and place them in the closet. Your hands are shaking a little but you're staying calm. That's good. You need the steady hands though, so you go into the kitchen and get a glass of water, allowing yourself to shake as you take little sips. When the tremors have passed, you go upstairs yourself. </p><p> </p><p>Brahms is waiting in the bedroom for you. In your absence, he's made himself angry again and his arms are folded across his chest. You don't let on that you've seen his anger and begin undressing. He can't resist the sight of your naked body and you let him look all he wants though the room is cold and you want nothing more than to put on flannel pajamas and burrow under the duvet. Instead, you take your time selecting your nightwear, turning this way and that as you undress and then slide open the drawers to select a black tank top and the tiny black shorts that are Brahms's favorite.</p><p> </p><p>When you've slipped these on, you turn to him with a smile on your face. “Ready for bed, baby?”</p><p> </p><p>“What did you think you were doing?” Brahms demands, his voice low and harsh.</p><p> </p><p>Okay. Okay, so you can't sexy your way out of this one. So you arrange your features into as blasé of an expression as you can and say, “Oh god, are you gonna freak out now?”</p><p> </p><p>“You were <i>leaving</i>. With my <i>son</i>.”</p><p> </p><p>“And?”</p><p> </p><p>It's a bit of a gamble but you kind of love the way his eyes bug out and he sputters in disbelief. “And?! What do you mean and?!”</p><p> </p><p>“You're acting like I've never done this before,” you say, lying like a rug.</p><p> </p><p>His face completely hardens. “What.”</p><p> </p><p>“I've left this house plenty of times, Brahms. And I always come back. I always come back to you.” You go to him and tilt your head to the side, sighing as if in disappointment. “I thought you knew? You pretty much know everything that goes on around here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why were you taking him?” he growls.</p><p> </p><p>“He told you! I was taking him into town for sweets. I thought if I left now, we'd get there early enough so that not many people would notice us. It seemed safer. He's a big boy now and I wanted him to experience more than just this house.” You reach out and gently cup the side of Brahms's face, the burned side, and whisper tenderly, “Don't you want better for him than what your parents gave you?”</p><p> </p><p>His expression wavers. He wants to believe you but it's clear that he doesn't yet. </p><p> </p><p>“Baby.” You let tears start to fall, the disappointed tears you wanted to shed when you saw him blocking the gate. “God. I love you. I gave you a child. What's it gonna take for you to trust me?”</p><p> </p><p>His eyes close and he exhales sharply through his nose. “I love you, too.”</p><p> </p><p>You start kissing his face and his arms close around you. He brings his mouth to yours and he kisses you, hard. You wince but then open your eyes quickly to make sure he didn't see that. He didn't. All these years and he still kisses too hard and too roughly. You've tried to ask him to be more gentle but it makes him defensive and snappish so you've given up. </p><p> </p><p>His hands grasp your ass and knead your cheeks, gripping you to his rock hard cock. This part doesn't take much acting. You might prefer gentle kisses but you rather like the rough stuff in bed. He lifts you off your feet and your legs circle around his waist. He hasn't stopped kissing you yet as he walks the two of you to the bed. He drops you to the mattress and then begins tugging the shorts down your legs. When he draws back to open his trousers, you pull your tank top off and drop it to the floor. You eagerly part your legs, panting harshly as he lowers himself to you once more, kissing all over your neck and tits, sucking and biting.</p><p>If it had just been this, you could have stood it. But then your little boy came and... everything was different. You chose this life. He didn't. It wasn't fair. At one time you actually did find yourself in love with Brahms Heelshire, still do love him at times, but you love that child more.</p><p> </p><p>Brahms thrusts hard into you and you yelp but grip his back tightly, digging in your nails. “Yeah!” you gasp out in encouragement.</p><p> </p><p>He pounds into you and your knees are up and gripping him by his rib cage. You babble uncontrollably as his cock wildly pistons in and out of your dripping wet pussy and god it's good. It's always been good with him, since the night you woke up and found the mysterious masked man in your room, when you discovered that you'd been brought to this house for him and not to play nanny to a porcelain doll. It had frightened you and you hadn't wanted it but it was the hardest you'd ever come in your life and then gradually, bit by bit, you found yourself falling in love with this tortured, dark man who refused to grow up.</p><p> </p><p>“I'm almost finished,” he moans. “Where do you want it?”</p><p> </p><p>In an effort to not get pregnant, you'd convinced him that you loved it when a guy pulled out and came on you. That had protected you for awhile but Brahms liked staying inside too much, liked the feel of your pussy contracting around him and all too often, he came inside with a low groan. Then he'd fall asleep still inside you and that was always an uncomfortable, miserable night.</p><p> </p><p>“In me,” you breathe.  His breathing gets faster and more excited at your answer and he starts rubbing your clit with his thumb until you have a shivery little orgasm that triggers his own big finish. He throws his head back and comes with a harsh shout of your name.</p><p> </p><p>You cuddle him when he sags down on top of you. He shifts you to your sides and starts kissing your face. Now it's gentle. He murmurs that he loves you and drops off to sleep. You let yourself cry now, pressing your face into his shoulder. As much as you love him, you hate him the same amount. It's been pulling you in two directions for years, to the point that you feel constant stress.</p><p> </p><p>Tonight you've let Brahms come inside you because it's too late. You're already pregnant again. Your period is five days late. Last time this happened, you begged Brahms to let you have your child in a hospital but he refused. You had to deliver the child yourself and you were damn lucky that neither of you died.</p><p> </p><p>You might not be so lucky this time. So you'll try escaping again tomorrow. You'll put something in the tea at breakfast to put them both to sleep. You can get your baby boy out of here easier if he isn't awake and asking questions. Brahms will drop off to sleep while you make your getaway and when he wakes up to find the two of you gone...</p><p> </p><p>You don't want to think of it. You kiss Brahms's shoulder lightly and he murmurs something in his sleep. You had been lying earlier but only a little. You haven't actually left the grounds before. You've slipped away multiple times but always turn back before you reach the gate. You had your son with you once, when he was a baby. Brahms had had a stomach bug, he wouldn't have been able to follow even if he'd wanted to. But you'd gotten cold feet, worrying about who would take care of Brahms if you left. Fretting about the idea of your child growing up not knowing his father. So you'd turned back.</p><p> </p><p>Not this time. You can't afford to stay, the little life growing inside you can't afford to stay. You'll try again tomorrow. When you finally make it past those gates you aren't going to look back. You repeat this over and over in your head until you drift off, Brahms already snoring in your ear.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>